


Something Stronger

by beenana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: ....Not Literally, Assisted Tooth-Brushing, Best Friends, Cast Parties, Gen, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Platonic Kissing, Posey's An Angel, This is not that kind of story, Warnings Further Explained in Author's Note, non/con elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 15:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13977552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beenana/pseuds/beenana
Summary: The fact that Dylan isn’t participating in the all-cast grind line should be the first clue that something’s wrong.  Because everyone’s out on the dance floor – well, everyone but Sprayberry because the poor kid can’t even get into the club – and Dylan's back at the table with his head in his hands, eyes half-lidded.Dylan gets in trouble at a club and Posey saves him.  That's it, really.





	Something Stronger

**Author's Note:**

> does anyone still ship them? bc you should. o'brosey never dies
> 
> okay sooooo the tags make this look really scary but nothing actually happens, really. there's a warning for some non-consensual kissing, but if you want to know more about what you're getting into, see the end notes
> 
> i don't own these dudes and i don't pretend to know anything about them

The fact that Dylan isn’t participating in the all-cast grind line should be the first clue that something’s wrong.  Because everyone’s out on the dance floor – well, everyone but Sprayberry because the poor kid can’t even get into the club – and Dylan's back at the table with his head in his hands, eyes half-lidded. 

Normally that’d have Tyler scuttling to his side in concern within seconds, but he’s wedged between Hoechlin’s dick and Shelley’s ass at the moment so he’s a bit distracted.  It’s a small wonder he hasn’t popped a boner yet.  That’s going to change uncomfortably soon if Shelley doesn’t stop doing that _thing_ , though.

She doesn’t and he does but luckily the song ends and she just tosses him a casual wink over her shoulder before heading to the bar for another drink.  If there’s one person on earth that couldn’t give less of a damn about the overenthusiasm of Tyler’s dick, it’s Shelley.  And Dylan, too.  Dylan never minds.

Oh yeah…Dylan.

His eyes are all the way shut now and it looks like his head’s going to slip off of his hands at any second and go careening into the tabletop, possibly embedding a fork into his skull.  Tyler quickly moves the fork out of the way as he slides into the booth next to his best friend.

“You okay?” he asks, shouting to be heard over the music.  “It’s not like you to pass up an opportunity to rub your butt on someone.”

“Don’ feel good,” Dylan mumbles and Tyler has to lean in close to hear him.  “I feel fuzzy.”

Tyler’s eyebrows rise in surprise, then pull together in concern.  Before he can say anything, Hoechlin takes the seat on Dylan's other side and gives him the up-and-down before wondering aloud, “What’s with him?”

“I don’t know.”  Tyler shrugs.  “Did you see him take something?”

“No,” Hoechlin says, gently holding the back of his hand to Dylan's forehead like an honest-to-God dad.  Dylan _mmm_ ’s in response, eyes fluttering open for a fraction of a second before falling closed again.  “He was never much for anything stronger than weed…at least not when we all lived together.  That hasn’t changed, has it?”

“Not that I know of.”  Tyler’s starting to get worried.  There are beads of sweat dripping down from Dylan's temples, like he’s spent the night dancing – or flailing, since it’s _Dylan_ – and not sitting still in a booth.  He puts a comforting hand on the back of Dylan's sticky neck and asks, “Do you need to leave, bud?  I’ll come with you.”

But Dylan shakes his head at that, apparently more aware of the conversation than he looks.  “Nah, m’okay,” he says even though he’s obviously anything but.  “M’gonna sit ‘ere, ‘kay?  You go have fun, Pose.”

There’s no way in hell Tyler’s doing that when there’s something wrong with his best friend, so he settles back against the booth and starts rubbing comforting circles over Dylan's back.  His muscles are trembling and yeah…Tyler’s not leaving his side.

Papa Hoechlin sticks around long enough to make sure they’re okay before he disappears into the mass of sweaty bodies, probably in search of Arden and Holland.  Victoria and Khylin are kissing on the dance floor – when did that happen? – and Meagan and Shelley are giggling at the next table over, whispering in each other’s ears about who knows what.  The club is full of people Tyler loves and adores and he wouldn’t change a thing.

Okay, he’d make Dylan feel better.  But other than that, it’s a perfect night.

Eventually he needs to use the bathroom, so he puts his mouth by Dylan's ear and says, “Hey, I gotta piss real quick, okay?  But I’ll be right back.”

“Hm, don’ fall in,” Dylan slurs and Tyler rolls his eyes.  The cheek on this guy, honestly.

Cheeky or not, Tyler doesn’t want to leave Dylan by himself longer than he needs to, so he practically runs to the bathroom and makes quick work of it.  It’s a good thing, too, because when Tyler steps back into the loud music and flashing lights of the club, Dylan isn’t at the table anymore.  Simmering nerves bubbling in his belly, Tyler pushes his way through the crowds of people in search of his best friend.  When he finds him, the nerves transform into all-out panic.

Because Dylan is a few feet from the back door and he’s not alone.

“Hey!” Tyler says sharply, the shout echoing down the dim, empty hallway.  “Get your hands off him!”

The guy is well over six feet tall and built like a Mack truck.  But that’s not the worst part…the worst part is the gigantic hand he has wrapped around Dylan's bicep as he drags him along like a ragdoll.  At Tyler’s rage-filled order, the guy stops in his tracks and turns around, an angry sneer across his face.  “You!” he says, nostrils flaring in disgust.  “You can’t stay away, can you?  I’ve been waiting all night for you to finally get away from _him_ —”  He shakes Dylan roughly, coaxing a pained whimper from between Dylan's lips.  “—and then you fucking show up at the last damn second!”

Tyler’s blood turns to ice because he gets it now.  Dylan's not sick…Dylan's been _drugged_.  By a guy who looks like he could eat both of them for breakfast.

Tyler wants to throw up.

But there’s no time for that because his best friend’s been _drugged_ and Tyler’s alone and he’s got to stop this.  If the guy gets Dylan out the back door, bad things are going to happen.  Really, _really_ bad things.

So he does the first thing he can think of: he screams at the top of his lungs and launches himself at the guy.  He gets a fist to the face for his troubles, vision blurring as he lands flat on his back, pain ripping through every bone in his body.  His lungs collapse and for a second Tyler can’t move, can only watch in horror as the man grins evilly and leans over to kiss Dylan right on the mouth.

“No,” Dylan protests weakly, hands sluggish as he tries to push the guy away.  “No, no, _no_!  I don’ _wanna_.”

It breaks Tyler’s entire fucking heart and all at once he can breathe again. With red in his vision and murder in his veins, Tyler jumps to his feet and takes the cheap shot with zero remorse.  As the guy drops to his knees with his hands between his legs, gasping in pain and eyes nearly bugging out of his head, Tyler grabs Dylan’s hand and pulls him down the hallway as fast as he can.

But Dylan's legs are barely working and it’s nowhere near fast enough.  Tyler can hear the guy getting up behind them and, his ears roaring with the static of pure panic, Tyler scoops Dylan up bridal style and takes off in a run.  “Sorry, bro,” he apologizes, wincing as Dylan's head bounces up and down in way that can’t possibly be comfortable.  “I’ll put you down when it’s safe.”

But even the sea of dancing people doesn’t look safe and Tyler keeps Dylan in his arms until he makes it all the way back to their table, now filled up with their friends.

“Fucking _roofied_ ,” he gasps out, jelly-limbed and terrified now that the adrenaline has worn off.  He weakly sets Dylan into Shelley’s lap as gently as possible, knowing he made the right choice when she immediately situates his head on her shoulder and holds him close, a mixture of shock and fury written across her face.  “By _that_ guy!”

Tyler points across the club.

The guy is bigger and stronger than every single one of Tyler’s friends, but he’s no match for all of them at once and ends up with a split lip and a strict order from the bouncer to never set foot in the club again.  When the ordeal is all over, their friends are in various states of rage and tears, pressing gentle hands to Dylan's hair and face as if to make sure he’s really there.  They could have lost him tonight and they all know it.

It’s a sobering truth.

“Take good care of him,” Holland tells Tyler, her lips trembling.  It sounds like a desperate plea.  “Just—make sure he’s okay, yeah?”

“I will,” Tyler promises seriously, leaning over to kiss her forehead.  Then, dangerously close to tears of his own, he hugs each of his friends in turn, clinging a little longer than normal as if he can pull strength from their bloodstreams.  If he lets out an embarrassing whimper when Hoechlin presses a quick kiss to his ear, no one has to know.  Hoechlin won’t tell.

The cab ride back to Tyler’s apartment is sober and quiet, the silence only broken by the wordless noises that keep falling out of Dylan's mouth.  Tyler wonders absently if he even knows he’s making them.  Probably not if the listless way his head is bobbing back and forth is anything to go by.  He’s completely out of it. 

When a particularly large pothole sends Dylan flopping forward to smack his forehead against the front seat, Tyler grabs his shoulders and eases him down to a more horizontal position.  “Lie down, buddy,” he says softly, pillowing Dylan's head on his legs.  “We’ll be home soon.”

Dylan hums in answer and gives him a dopey smile.  Even completely gone, he’s beautiful and Tyler finds himself shaking his head affectionately, twining his fingers into Dylan's hair just the way he likes.  “You’re gonna be alright,” he whispers, mostly to himself.  “I’ve got you.”

Everything’s fine until they’re in the elevator, riding up to the fifth floor.  One second Dylan is leaning heavily against Tyler, eyes unfocused and a dribble of spit at the corner of his lips, and the next he’s flinching back like he’s just been awakened from a nightmare.

“Where am I?” he cries, eyes huge and brown and terrified.  “What’s going on?”

“You’re with me, Dyl,” Tyler says calmly, slowly reaching out so as not to spook him.  “And we’re going to my apartment, alright?”

“Why?” Dylan demands, face twisted in confusion.  Then he looks down at Tyler’s outstretched hands in a panic.  “Did you kiss me?”

Tyler pulls his hands back like he’s been burned.  “That wasn’t me,” he says sadly and then Dylan starts to cry.

Watching his best friend crumble to the floor in tears, face written with confusion and terror, makes Tyler want to kill someone.  Makes him want to burn the whole world down.  Makes him want to scream and scream and never stop screaming.  It feels like his blood is literally on fire, hurting him from the inside out, and before he even knows what happening, he’s punching the elevator wall as hard as he can.

His knuckles come away aching and bruised.

“ _Stop_ ,” Dylan pleads from the floor, snot dripping from his nose and his chin wet with drool.  He’s a mess.  “Please just— _don’t_.  I’m s-scared, Ty.”

“Oh buddy,” Tyler whispers, the rage leaving his body.  Then he falls to the ground in front of his best friend like someone cut his strings.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—come here.”

He pulls Dylan into his arms and doesn’t let go until the elevator doors open.

Dylan's eyes have lost the glazed-over look, but his body is still heavy and sluggish.  It takes much too long to get him into the apartment, Tyler nearly dragging him through the kitchen and the living room to deposit him on the giant king-sized bed in Tyler’s room.  Dylan is whining and crying all the while, repeating _I’m scared, Tyler_ over and over until Tyler wants to cry, too.

“I know you’re scared,” he whispers, climbing up onto the bed to cup Dylan's face in his hands.  Dylan doesn’t flinch, just sniffs hard and looks at Tyler with so much trust in his eyes Tyler can barely breathe.  “But I’m here and we’re gonna sleep this off and you’re gonna feel better in the morning, okay?”

“Okay.”  It’s small, but it’s there.

“Good.”  Tyler nods decisively, trying for a smile.  It mostly succeeds.  He gestures at Dylan's jeans and button-down shirt.  “You wanna wear that to bed or do you want me to get you some sweats?”  Then he shrugs.  “Or you can just sleep in your undies…that’s fine, too.  Or naked, even.  I don’t mind.”

“Undies,” Dylan says, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.  His fingers are clumsy from the drugs and he’s soon crying again, unable to get them undone.  “I can’t do it!”

“Hey, hey, shhhh,” Tyler tries to soothe him, covering his friend’s frantic hands with his own.  “Let me.”

Tyler helps him undress, leaving his clothes in a messy pile on the floor.  Once he’s down to his underwear, Dylan brushes his fingers against Tyler’s jawline.  “Thanks,” he whispers, chewing nervously at his lip.  Then, “Will you kiss me, please?”

Tyler stares at him.  “What?”

Dylan's face is pink.  “Don’t make it a big deal,” he pleads, eyes skittering anxiously from Tyler’s face to the wall, then back to Tyler’s face.  “Please, can you just kiss me?  I need—you to kiss me.”

“Dylan, I—”

“Tyler!” Dylan cries and it’s almost a wail, but not quite.  “I need to be kissed by someone who loves me.”

The statement cuts through Tyler like a knife and all arguments die on his lips.  “Oh god, Dylan,” he says softly, tears streaking down his cheeks unbidden.  “Oh _god_.  I love you so much, dude.”

Then he takes Dylan's face in his hands, wipes the wetness away with his thumbs, and kisses him right on the mouth.  Dylan hums against his lips, his hands flying up to grip at Tyler’s shoulders as if he’s afraid he’ll take it back.  As if he’ll pull away.  As if he’ll _leave_.

But Tyler’s learned his lesson about leaving Dylan alone – namely _never to_ – so he just presses closer and licks at the seam of Dylan's lips.  Dylan lets him deepen the kiss immediately, making a pleased sound in the back of his throat that has Tyler smiling against his mouth.  They kiss until Tyler feels fuzzy and warm and Dylan is breathing harshly through his nose, all stuffed up from crying.  It should be gross maybe, but Tyler loves him so much he doesn’t even care.

Dylan pulls away first.  “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, then reaching over to wipe the excess slime from Tyler’s upper lip, too.  “I snotted all over you.”

“I don’t care,” Tyler says honestly, giving him one last peck on the lips, lightning fast.  Dylan giggles, a blessed sound.  “I love your snot.”

“You’re so weird,” Dylan says wisely, then turns slowly to pull the covers down.  “Let’s go to sleep now.”

“That’s the best idea anyone’s had all night.”

It’s just as Tyler’s about to drop off to sleep that something knocks on his brain.  Something that has his eyes flying open.  “Hey, Dyl?  You awake?” he whispers into the darkness.  He gets a muffled groan in answer.  “When’s the last time you went to the bathroom?”

It’s a strange enough question that Dylan actually manages to pull his face out of the pillow.  Tyler can just barely see him in the dark.  “What?”  He sounds incredulous and really, really sleepy.

“The bathroom, man!  You’ve got knock-out drugs in your system so it’s probably not a great idea to go to sleep without peeing first.”

There’s silence for so long Tyler’s almost afraid Dylan fell asleep mid-conversation.  But then a tiny voice says from somewhere by Tyler’s ear, “I don’t have to pee.”

It’s the biggest fucking lie Tyler’s ever heard.  He sighs heavily, rolling his eyes mostly good-naturedly.  “Yes you do, so let’s just get this over with,” he says, forcing himself to sit up and kick the covers off.  “Up and at ‘em, bitch.”

He turns the lamp on, filling the room with light.  Dylan yelps like he’s been punched, grabbing Tyler’s pillow and putting it over his face.  “I don’t want to!”

“Oh my god!” Tyler cries in disbelief, but he’s laughing.  He’ll take stubborn toddler Dylan over crying Dylan any day.  “You know I love you more than anyone on earth…you’re my baby!  But if given the choice between you pissing in my bed and you _not_ pissing in my bed, I’m gonna choose _not_ every time.”

“And that makes you a bad friend,” Dylan says into the pillow, kicking his feet beneath the covers.  “Let me sleep, dammit!”

“Nope!  Not until you pee!” Tyler says cheerfully.  He’s fully awake now.  “C’mon…I’ll help you.”

He counts to five in his head, giving Dylan a couple seconds to grumble before he grabs his best friend by the waist and hauls him out of bed.  Then he keeps hauling until they’re standing in front of the toilet in the on-suite bathroom.  “Can you stand or are you too tired?” Tyler asks, purposefully keeping his voice light.  He doesn’t want Dylan to feel awkward.

“Better sit,” Dylan admits and his face is only a little red.  “I’m still kinda—fuzzy.  Can’t make my body work right.”

It ignites something hot and protective in Tyler’s belly and he presses a fierce kiss to Dylan's cheek before helping him get his underwear down and settle onto the toilet.  He had every intention of leaving so his friend could have privacy to take care of business, but before he can even take a step toward the door, Dylan lists forward to press his forehead against Tyler’s stomach.  “Don’t leave,” he whispers and he sounds scared again.  Scared and so, so small.

“I won’t,” Tyler promises.  He pets the back of Dylan's hair.  “Go ahead and pee, dude.  It’s okay.”

Dylan does as he’s told, face getting warm against Tyler’s belly as he pisses and pisses and pisses.  “Sorry,” he says, embarrassed, sitting back just long enough to flick his eyes up at Tyler.  Then he hides his face again.  “I didn’t know I had to go so bad.”

“It’s okay,” Tyler repeats, hands still in Dylan's hair.  “I’m just glad you went.”

When he’s done, Tyler fishes out an extra toothbrush from the drawer and runs it over Dylan's teeth, smiling privately to himself at the way Dylan goes pliant, tipping his head back and letting it happen.  Then Tyler holds a paper cup beneath Dylan's chin so he can spit the foam out, huffing a laugh at the couple flecks of white that land on his hand.  If there’s one thing Tyler’s learned tonight it’s that he’d do literally anything for Dylan.  No holds barred.

He likes the realization.

“Can we sleep now?” Dylan whines, climbing off the toilet and kicking his underwear across the room instead of pulling them up.  “It’s practically fucking daytime.”

“It’s barely one o’clock,” Tyler informs him, but slings his arm around Dylan's shoulders all the same, leading him back to the bedroom.  “But yes…we can sleep now.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Tyler strips down too because why the fuck not, and they fall into bed bare shoulder to bare shoulder and bare hip to bare hip.  The press of Dylan's warm skin against his is a constant reminder that his best friend is alive, his best friend is okay, his best friend is _here_ – it calms his frantic mind and loosens the knot in his stomach.  “Love you,” he whispers at the ceiling, knowing full well Dylan is probably asleep already.

Sure enough, there’s no answer but the even sound of Dylan's breathing.  But that’s okay.  It’s the next best thing.

*** 

Dylan sleeps for almost twenty-four hours.

Tyler’s in the on-suite drying off from a shower when Dylan comes careening into the room, hand around his dick and _oh my god oh my god oh my god_ falling out of his mouth.  As Tyler looks on in amusement, Dylan rushes to the toilet and barely manages to get the seat up before he’s peeing, the tiniest bit dripping down his legs and onto the floor.  “Sorry, bro,” he wheezes, throwing an arm out against the wall to hold himself up when his legs look like they’re going to buckle.  “I just pissed on your floor.”

“Is the bed dry?” Tyler asks, shaking the excess water out of his hair like a dog.  It splatters against the mirror.

“Yeah.”  Dylan's still peeing.

“Then I’m not too worried about it.”

But Dylan's a good friend and nowhere near as gross as the last two days would lead someone to believe, so he cleans up the droplets anyways, throwing the soiled tissue into the toilet once he’s done.  Then he hops his bare ass up onto the bathroom counter and swings his feet back and forth, letting them tap against the cabinets.  Tyler thinks he’s going to sit there in silence all night, but when Tyler starts pulling his clothes on he finally speaks up. 

“Thanks for taking care of me,” he says quietly.  His cheeks are pink.  “Like, at the club and at home and…everything.”

Tyler’s eyes get misty.  “You don’t gotta thank me,” he says, throat tight, stepping into the V of Dylan's legs to give him a quick kiss on the nose.  “You’re my best friend, man.”

“Yeah, but—”  Dylan sighs, letting his head thunk back against the mirror.  “—I keep thinking about it.  Like, about what could have happened, you know?  And it fucking _terrifies_ me and the only thing that stood between me and… _that_ …is you.  So please just—”  He trails off.

“Kiss you?”

Dylan laughs.  “I was gonna say ‘take my thanks,’ but I wouldn’t object to a kiss.”

“Me either,” Tyler says with a grin, leaning in close and then stopping a few inches from Dylan's mouth just to make sure.  Dylan rolls his eyes and eagerly closes the gap, pulling Tyler in by the back of his neck.  It’s not a great kiss – Dylan tastes exactly like what you’d expect a guy who slept for twenty-four hours to taste like – and they pull away after a few seconds, but it’s nice.  It’s nice and they’re both grinning like idiots.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Dylan announces, jumping back off the counter and turning the water on.  “And you’re gonna take one, too.”

“I literally just took a shower,” Tyler points out, running a hand through his damp hair as if to say _see?_

“You’re gonna take one, too,” Dylan repeats, snapping the elastic on Tyler’s underwear repeatedly until Tyler gives in and pushes them back down his thighs.  Pushy little bastard.  “ _And_ you’re gonna wash my hair.”

“Oh I am, am I?”

“Yep, and you’re not gonna get any shampoo in my eyes, either.”  Dylan pokes his head out from the other side of the shower curtain, wiggling his eyebrows up and down like a dumbass.  “Because you love me!”

And, well…who could argue with that?

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings: a dude drugs dylan at a club and kisses him, but posey stops it before it can go farther than that. then they later have a conversation about how scared dylan was


End file.
